


(fic) Article 14, Section 3 (GW, angst, disaster situations, R-ish)

by windsorblue



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-26
Updated: 2006-04-26
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in the days following Hurricane Katrina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(fic) Article 14, Section 3 (GW, angst, disaster situations, R-ish)

title - Article 14, Section 3

pairing - 3x4 main, others depending on your fangoggle settings

summary - sometimes, Hell _is_ high water

warnings - varying levels of angst, disaster situations, AU-ish, shifting first-person POV

rating - R-ish

note - I started this in the days following Hurricane Katrina, and then put it aside because I felt like it was kind of hypocritical for me to be writing about it when I was only watching the aftermath unfold from my comfortable house on the other side of the country. Last week's [](http://gw500.livejournal.com/profile)[**gw500**](http://gw500.livejournal.com/) challenge combination of "water" and "wind" motivated me to dig it up again and finish it, but since it's far too long for the comm, I'm just posting it here. Yay for finishing the WIP that no one knew was there and not really taking a damn thing off my fic-to-do list. Anyway.

 

**Relena**

The newsvids - I keep thinking they can't be right, that it must all be made up. An elaborate prank, perhaps, on par with Orson Wells' _War of the Worlds._

But this is no prank. It is very much real.

It is shocking to me, as both a politician and a person, that the elected officials of the United States are not moving faster to rescue their own citizens. If Sanq City were under ten feet of water, I would be there myself, doing whatever I could to help.

And then it occurs to me that it doesn't matter if it's Sanq City or not.

A quick perusal of ESUN codes and bylaws tells me what I need to know, and a phone call is all it takes to put the wheels in motion. At first the ESUN President questions the organization's authority in this situation, but after I read paragraphs out loud to him, he is convinced. What is it Duo says about being able to quote chapter and verse?

Article 14, Section 3 of the ESUN Charter: In the event of catastrophic disaster, caused by acts of terrorism, accident, the forces of nature or an act of God, where the lives of any member nation's citizens are placed in grave danger and the elected leaders of said member nation are unable to lead, the ESUN may act over and above the sovereignty of said nation in the interest of its citizenry.

As I'm shoving some sensible clothes into a backpack, Peygan asks me, "Aren't you concerned that the President of the United States will consider this an act of war by Sanq?"

"Let him," I reply. "I consider his inaction to be an act of war against his own country. You tell me which is more reprehensible."

\--

**Une**

"You will stand down. Now."

The general - my God, how did this spineless idiot ever manage to get promoted to general? - crosses his arms and straightens his shoulders, as if his mass alone is enough to frighten me. It's hard not to laugh. I have seen the face of Death many times, General - and believe me, it looks nothing like yours. "I have my orders, ma'am, and you are clearly unaware of the chain of command here."

"I am fully aware of your chain of command, General. I am ignoring it. I am acting under the auspices of Article 14, Section 3 of the ESUN Charter, and if you have a problem with that, you may take it before the member nations of the ESUN. In the meantime, your soldiers will stand down and allow my crews to cross the bridge into the city."

"And if they won't?"

"Then we will start shooting." I make a point of looking over his squadron before I sneer, "And I believe we outnumber you by a ratio of five to one. Are you prepared to die today, General? Because I am more than prepared to kill you."

He falters. Most bullies do in the face of bald determination. He turns to give his men the order to stand down, and as he does, I can hear him mutter, "Bitch," under his breath.

I step behind him and say, just loud enough for him to hear me, "That's Colonel Bitch to you."

\--

**Wufei**

I have never seen water so filthy. It's black as oil in places with strange rainbow swirls in others - proof of the gasoline and chemical hazards floating in the city streets. A part of me is physically disgusted to have to touch it, but the job I have to do is too important to let the bile churning in my stomach find a way out.

Concentrate on the job. Yes. Concentrate on the job.

It reeks of death, all around me. The boat I'm in is also carrying three underwater rescue specialists and two sharpshooters. I don't know whether it's panic or an inherent evil that's making survivors shoot at those of us who are here to help, but considering how close to hell they must feel right now - well, it's easier than usual to forgive a little evil.

I tell myself this is no worse than the Mariemeia Uprising. I tell myself it's no worse than the battle between Libra and Peacemillion. I tell myself it's no worse than the attack I staged on Noin's students.

In front of the house we're passing is a body floating in the water, bloated, face down and arms splayed out. The skin I can see is black and mottled with rot. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. I'm not sure I could even if I could see the face.

We should stop...we should...it's not right to just leave it...

"We're looking for survivors," one of my teammates says, his voice quiet, deafening in the stillness. "We don't have time for corpses. Not now."

"Understood." I nod and close my eyes, and a few moments later I lean over the side of the boat and throw up.

\--

**Duo**

I always thought Hell was full of fire and brimstone, but now I'm thinking it's full of water.

I'm walking the streets of the French Quarter - I've been here before, a few years ago. A bunch of us came...me, Hil, Heero, Tro and Quatre, Wufei, Sal, Zechs and Noin - hell, even Cathy and Lena managed to get here for a few days. We walked through these same streets in the morning sunlight and in the warm evenings. We drank and we laughed and Hilde flashed her tits at some guy on a balcony for beads. Trowa and Cathy danced with some street musicians while Quatre played on a borrowed fiddle. Zechs dropped a thousand creds on a single hand of poker - won, too, the crazy bastard. Noin and Sally dared each other into a live sex show and came out blushing - fucking blushing, man - Lucrezia Noin and Sally Po, blushing. Craziest thing I ever saw.

Until now.

These streets are empty now. The life is drained out of them, left them flat and hollow. The painted doors seem less bright even though they've escaped the worst of the waters. There's no sound of life here anymore - no music, no noise, no people laughing and shouting and swearing and fighting. The few people here are speaking in whispers. Without the noise, it's like a four-block-long ghost.

I come to the cathedral, and there's Jesus staring down at me. He's got two fingers missing, broken off in the storm, they say. The locals say Jesus turned the storm at the last minute, and that's how he lost his fingers. Maybe if he'd ponied up the whole hand, some of this destruction could have been avoided.

That's not fair, Sister Helen says in my head. That's not fair to blame God for tragedy, Duo.

Sorry, Sister. It's just... _fuck_...I need someone to blame.

\--

**Cathy**

I can't begin to describe the conditions here. There are people lying anywhere they can find a spot. A foot of space here, two feet there...a woman to my right is trying desperately to nurse her baby, but she's been without food herself for so long that her milk's dried up. The baby doesn't even cry anymore. He barely looks awake, much less hungry. I turn myself back to my task and don't think about the fact that it's probably too late to save him.

I stop to give her a bottle of water, and a bottle of formula. We still have some supplies, but not much. These people have been told that help is on the way so many times that they don't believe it anymore. I am the girl who cried wolf to them, no matter how badly they want to believe. But now that the Preventers are here, the evacuations have begun and the people are being cared for. Quatre's on his way - Trowa told me so. He's on his way with planes full of food. He should be here in a matter of hours.

Trowa gave me a small pistol and a shoulder holster for it. It chafes, but if I take it off he'll have my head.

I stop and kneel next to an older man, somebody's grandfather, and I reach into my pack for a bottle of water. He reaches out and lays his hand on my arm before I can open it and says, "Save it for someone who needs it, baby girl."

"I think you need it, Sir," I reply.

He chuckles softly, his voice dry and raspy. "Naw, baby girl, I ain't no sir, and you just give that water to someone else now. Hear? There's a girl." He pats my hand, reassuring when I should be reassuring him.

"Help is on the way," I say.

"That's good, that's nice. Now don't frown like that - you're a pretty girl, you are. You smile for me, pretty girl, okay? You smile for me."

I can't help but smile. Only years of performing keep me from crying, too.

"Pretty smile, pretty girl." His voice grows even weaker and he closes his eyes. "Got the face of an angel, you do, pretty girl."

His fingers slip away from my arm, and my tears start to fall. The woman with the baby takes her blanket and hands it to me, one-handed, supporting the bottle of formula with her chin, while her baby looks up at her with glazed-over eyes.

\--

**Trowa**

This boat is almost claustrophobic, but we've had a success. Five people pulled from the water, all from one house. They'd been trapped in their upstairs rooms for three days. The water came in too quickly for them to escape. They were lucky they had stashed some food and drinking water up there before the storm began - just in case, the wife told me. It ran out halfway through yesterday, but they're still alive, and now we're getting them to dry land.

The youngest boy is crying. He hasn't stopped since he got in the boat. A couple of the other guys here are getting edgy from it, but I'm getting curious. He doesn't seem happy to be rescued at all. I put my hand on his knee and ask, "What's the matter? Are you frightened? There's nothing to be frightened of - you're safe now."

He cries all the harder, and his mother says, "He lost his dog. He wants his dog."

"Where's the dog?" I ask.

The boy sobs again. "He told us to leave him," his mother says, pointing at one of my teammates. "He said, no dogs."

I turn to the private two seats down from me. I must have what Duo calls the "Hide or die, motherfucker," look on my face, because he shrinks back. "You made this kid leave his dog behind?"

He puffs out his chest and tries to look tough. "Sarge said no stray animals."

"First of all, it's not a stray - the dog's family is right here."

"Well, I - "

"And second, do you see your sergeant anywhere on this boat?"

He swallows. "No, sir."

"Who's the ranking officer on this mission, Private?"

His eyes narrow, but he keeps his voice respectful. "You are, sir."

I nod. "Turn the boat around."

He starts to argue with me and then decides against it, but as the motor slows and the boat turns, I can hear him and the other man from his unit grumbling. Goddamned Bluejackets, they say. That's what local military forces call Preventers when we step on their toes - goddamned Bluejackets.

"Is there a problem, Private?"

The first man starts to say "No, sir," but then the second one butts in. "We don't exactly see how you Bluejackets have any right to be coming into our country and trying to tell us and ours what to do. Sir." He says that last word like it's a curse, one his mother would chastise him for saying.

I lean back on the boat's bench seat and cross my arms over my chest. "Where were you during the Eve Wars, Private?"

He frowns. "High school, sir."

"And during the Mariemeia Uprising?"

"Same place, sir - high school."

"Well, Private, while you were in high school, me and mine were saving this whole fucking planet." I hold up two fingers, not looking his way. "Twice. So the way I see it, we've got the right to come and help out your citizens when your government is sitting around with its collective thumbs up its collective ass whenever the hell we goddamned well please." Now I look him in the eye, and see him flinch when I do. "And if you have a problem with that, I'll be more than happy to settle it with you when we get back to dry land."

They both fall quiet, and so do I. Next to the boy, his grandfather leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I was on X-18999. If you was there, then this is the second time you saved my neck, son."

\--

**Sally**

My arms and shoulders ache like hell, but there's nothing for it but to ignore it and carry on. There's no electricity to run his respirator. All we have is elbow grease, so elbow grease will have to do.

God, how long have I been at this?

I hear the door open and shut, hear footsteps in the room behind me. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder just as a voice - a woman's voice - says my name.

"Sally Po, right?"

"Yeah," I nod, still hunched over my patient. "Have we met?"

"A couple of years ago at my brother's New Year's Eve party, I think. I'm Iria Winner, Quatre's sister. Well, one of them, anyway."

"Oh, of course! Sorry - I'd shake your hand, but..."

She shakes her head and chuckles. "No worries. About ready for a break?" She steps to the side of my patient's bed, opposite from me, and lays an I.V. bag down next to his arm.

"Hell, yeah." She puts her hands on his chest, near mine, and I lift mine away as she begins to make compressions. "Are you here with Doctors Without Borders too?"

"Yeah," she says with a grin. "Small sphere, huh? When did you get in?"

I roll my shoulders a few times as I answer. "Day before the storm touched land - you?"

"Day after." She nods toward the I.V. bag. "That's for you, by the way."

"Thanks." I look at my patient's I.V. bag, giving it a squeeze. "He doesn't really need it, though - he's still got about three-quarters of a bag left."

"No, it's for you." She's giving me a pointed look, one I've seen more than once on another Winner's face. "There's no food left; drinking water's scarce. The only abundant source of nutrition left in this hospital is the kind that comes through a needle and a tube. That's your lunch."

"Oh." I'm holding the bag in my hand, squeezing it gently with bone-tired fingers. I don't want to wonder at the string of fuck-ups that led to...to everything I've seen in the last few days. I never thought I'd see conditions worse than the war, and I'm none to pleased to discover I was wrong about that. I let out a sigh, louder than I intended, and open the protective plastic that holds the needle and the tube. "No offense," I say as I tap my arm for a vein, "But your brother lays out a better spread."

She laughs softly. "I'll owe you a burger when this is all over."

I smile, probably the first genuine smile I've felt like smiling in days. "Deal."

\--

**Heero**

Here's the thing about growing up on a colony: you never see real weather, not like this, not the kind of weather that can do something like this. The weather on a colony is controlled down to the second - you will have rain at 9:15 a.m. on the second Wednesday of the month, and that rain will last exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes, and then you may go about your daily business. I have a hard time imagining the sheer volume of weather that has happened here. Being here for the aftermath is difficult enough, but being here while it was happening - the very idea is unfathomable to me.

I've spent most of the last two days either in a helicopter or dangling out of one, attached to a lifeline. My ears have dulled to the sound of the blades over my head, and I've grown accustomed to shouting in order to be heard.

"I can take four," I shout to the people huddled in their attic room. Their house was never grand, as far as I can tell - small, but probably tidy and well-kept. There are three adult women, one boy - probably about sixteen or so - and one older gentleman, who's staring up at me through the hole he's cut in his roof with steel in his eyes.

"Take them," he shouts back. "I'll be a'right."

I nod, tug on the line to signal them to lower me a bit more. One by one, I take them up - haul them up through that hole in the roof and hold onto them while the others on my crew winch us up into the helicopter. One by one, they come with wide eyes, staring down at the one who's staying behind. One of the women is sobbing against me, and I try to comfort her, awkwardly, patting with one hand as we rise.

The last one to come is the boy, and once he's secured, I shout down to the older man, "We'll be back for you in a few hours. Can you hold out until then?"

He nods, his expression wry. "Sure you will, boy. Go on, now!"

On our way back to higher ground, the one woman is still crying. "It's alright," I say, still speaking loudly, over the rotors. "We'll come and get him on the next sweep."

"That's what they said b'fore," shouts the boy.

I frown. "What who said before?"

"The ones what come and got the little 'uns."

A chill runs down my spine as I ask, "How long ago was that?"

"Two days, suh."

I rub my hand over my face. Every moment of this becomes more unimaginable, more of a nightmare. They're all watching me when I open my eyes again, and I say, "We'll be back for him today. You have my word."

The boy looks away. The two women too numb to cry look at each other. It is only the one with tears in her eyes who meets my gaze. "Sir," she says in a trembling voice. "I pray to God that we can believe you."

\--

**Dorothy**

Some battles are waged with steel, and some are waged with paper. Which do you suppose are the most heated, the most pitched?

I arrived yesterday with a transport plane filled to capacity with MRE's - some donated from Sanq, some from the other member nations of the ESUN. Not enough to take care of the entire remaining population, by any means, but enough to make a difference, surely.

And, just as surely, it has sat upon the tarmac since I arrived, and why? Because the United States placed an embargo upon Sanq beef last year. If I thought it would do any good, I would ring up Duo and have him come and explain to these horrid little men that 'beef' and 'MRE's' are mutually exclusive terms, but sadly he hasn't a Gundam anymore, and I suspect the results would be much less satisfying for us both without one.

I have called Relena, and she notified the press, who have railed and ranted and ultimately done nothing at all helpful. I called Zechs, and he said he would try to cut through the bureaucracy that - inexplicably - keeps a stranglehold upon these efforts. What Relena cannot accomplish through the rallying power of her public persona, he hopes to through the intimidation factor of his. Be patient, Dorothy, he said. Patience, my dear Zechs, is for women far more virtuous than I.

I am at the end of my rope. I tire of waiting for an official blessing. To quote Quatre in one of his more inspired moments, 'fuck this madness.' Someone left an all-terrain vehicle at the other end of the tarmac a couple of hours ago - all it took was a screwdriver and a little pluck to make it mine. If no one is willing to deliver this food for me, than I shall have to do it myself.

\--

**Noin**

"There!" Hilde shouts, pointing down. I look where she's pointing - a tiny house with a big hole in the roof, third from the end. Just like Heero said. I nod and cinch up the harness as she lowers me down. We've been switching off - it's her turn with the winch, and the blades of the helicopter are making wind-whirlpools in the water below us.

"Sir?" I yell down. The gentleman Heero left behind is sitting in two inches of water, arms around his knees. He's shivering, so at least I know he's still alive. When he looks up at me, he has disbelief - pure and undiluted - in his eyes.

"Angels come by helicopter now?" he shouts, and I have to laugh.

"I assure you, sir, I'm no angel. Can you stand?"

He gets to his feet, slowly, and I wave for Hilde to lower me further. My feet breach the water to touch the floor and I wrap a strap around his waist. "Hang on tight," I say, and I wave at Hilde again. He looks up when I look up, and I can just barely hear him murmur, "That fella sent you two little girls to come get me...he kept his word..."

"Yes sir, he most certainly did."

Hilde helps me pull him the rest of the way into the copter, and he says, "You tell him thank you for me, willya?"

I smile, and Hilde says, "You bet we will."

\--

**Quatre**

The phrase 'bureaucratic cluster fuck' comes to mind. So do 'criminal negligence' and 'impeachable offense', as well as several other things that, if given voice, would cause Cathy to give me _that look_ and ask if I kiss her brother with that mouth.

Speaking of her brother...off to one side I can see Trowa's boat pulling up to land - I think a week ago, this would have been where a bus stopped to pick up passengers. A family gets out, the youngest child holding a shivering dog tightly, close to his chest. I step forward, taking off my jacket, and wrap it around the child's shoulders. "Here you go, now, this should help." I kneel down - he's staring at me with wide eyes and I smile.

"You don' need it?" he asks.

I shake my head and lay my hand, gently, on the back of the dog's neck. He's still shaking, the poor thing, but he allows my touch. "Not as much as you do. What's his name?"

"Spike," says the boy.

"That's a good name," I reply. "You and Spike, you take your family to that tent over there, and you tell them that Mr. Winner said to take care of you." Mr. Winner - not Agent Winner. I was Mr. Winner when I arrived, and even though I wear a Preventers uniform now, it is still Mr. Winner's name that gets things done. "If anyone tells you that you can't have your dog in there, you come and get me, and I'll straighten it out. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," he nods, and after a nudge on the shoulder from his mother, he adds, "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

I turn back to the boat as they walk away, just in time to see Trowa and the local military personnel he was on patrol with get out. One of them says something to Trowa, over his shoulder, and Trowa grabs him, whirls him around and flattens him with a punch across the jaw. My eyebrows lifts, and as I step closer the private gets to his feet - with the help of his friend - and shouts, "Fucking Bluejacket!"

Trowa just nods as he's walking my way, and says, "Your C.O. and I will be having a conversation about your attitude, asshole." He stops just in front of me and smiles. "Hi."

"Hi yourself. Problems?"

"Not at all. Why do you ask?"

I shrug, half-smiling. "No reason. So how did it go?"

He's watching the family that just got out of his boat when he says, "All things considered, I think we did okay. How about you?"

I turn my attention that way - the boy holding the dog is pointing at me, saying something to the soldier at the entrance to the tent. The soldier squints, then nods and steps aside, letting them in. Once again, the Winner name opens doors. Even in the times when it shouldn't take a name to do so.

"Yeah," I say. "I think we did okay, too. All things considered."

*end*  



End file.
